


Piercing Silence

by glamSKANKK



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamSKANKK/pseuds/glamSKANKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't his fault. It wasn't Tommy's fault in the least. But that doesn't matter to him, and he's taking the situation into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piercing Silence

I’m alive. And I’m alone.  

My physical cuts have turned into scars, and my physical bruises have faded to the color of my pale skin. The emotional ones, though, are never going to leave. It wasn’t my fault. I know it wasn’t my fault. But there’s nothing I can do. There is not a day that goes by, where I don’t cry. No one sees me cry. But I do. The tears fall like rain, my black makeup smears leaving my face marbled. Everyone sees my eyes: they’re chocolate and bloodshot. They all know that I’ve been mourning. Nobody says anything, though. I’ll talk when I want to; when I decide it’s time. My hands are shaking all of the time, and I cannot stomach food anymore. I have managed to lose over 25 pounds. I stopped counting. 

I haven’t touched a bass, or even a guitar in weeks. My music is nothing but notes now. There is no harmony, there is no real melody. Every time I think of touching my bass, I think of Adam. Every time I think of Adam, I think of the silence. The piercing silence of the last few seconds, the remaining seconds of his life, were the most important. And I wasn’t even the last thing he saw. I don’t know in my mind what his final memory was, or his final thought. But in my heart, I know it was me. Is that selfish? Maybe. I know he would be my last thought. I am always thinking about him, though. Even when he was still here, he was on my mind every single second. I loved him. No. I love him.  

I remember feeling the weight of the bus shift and I figured that it was road construction, but then the feeling never went away. Being stupid, I strapped the lap-belt around my waist and pulled it tight. I shouldn’t have. I knew he was asleep in the back, and dammit I should have gone back to be there with him. But I was too stupid, too goddamn stupid and scared to stand up and walk the four fucking steps to the bedroom. I remember feeling like the bus was moving in slow motion. I saw my shoes first, fly across the living area. I heard the smash of glass shattering, and the shrill creek of sheet metal caving. The belt smashed into my waist, causing me to wince and heave. I was dangling facing the earth and the window across from where I was seated. Then it hit me. The piercing silence. The painful silence. The driver groaned. But there were no sounds leaking from the back of the bus. I unstrapped my seatbelt, and braced myself for the fall. I hit the window with the balls of my hands first, breaking my right wrist. I ignored the pain, and then I don’t even remember making my way back to the bedroom. I slammed the door open, and nearly threw up. The bed was vertical, the white sheets were stained red, the mirror shattered, and the black tinted window was cracked. The crevice was filled with a stream of red. That was when the nausea hit me. I couldn’t help it. Without warning, I vomited on whatever was below me. Tears built up in my eyes, they poured down my face. Under the sheets... nothing more than a tuft of black mused hair was visible, and a cut-open right hand. I tried to take a step closer, I really really did. I tried so fucking hard, I promise!  

I finally came-to in the back of an ambulance. Where was Adam? That was all I could say. That was all I wanted to know. No one answered me. No one would give me any idea. I saw my band-mates. The second bus must have pulled off of the road behind Adam’s bus when they saw us. Everyone looked sick. Everyone was teary-eyed. Even Longineu. Allison and Liz didn’t even try to hold back their sobs. Valerie stood with David, Sasha, Taylor, Terrance and Monte. And then it hit me. I was alive...but I was alone. 

It has been exactly three months since the accident. Three months to the day. Don’t try to tell me it’s unhealthy to count the days. I’m home now. I’m sitting on my bed. The sheets are crisp, the air conditioning just kicked on, and I. Hate. Myself. 

The handle of the knife feels cool. It’s black, and made of some expensive-as-shit synthetic something. I turn it, feel it, memorize it. It’s hard; the coolness fades as it warms to the temperature of my right palm. I see the droplets of sweat fall from the tip of my nose to the photo sitting in my lap. It’s a photo of me and Adam. We’re kissing. Sort of. It’s a picture from the “Fever” performance from the first night at the Nokia Theater in New York City. That was fun. I love this picture. I love us. I love Adam. My eyes burn, and the tears start to spill over. I look back at the blade in my hand. It’s sharp. It’s perfect. It will work. 

I guess within a minute, I’ll have to learn to welcome and love the piercing silence. I close my eyes. 


End file.
